


Pirouettes and Personal Bests

by sintrovert



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Ballet, Based on a Tumblr Post, Fluff, Humor, M/M, dancer yuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-16 15:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9278270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sintrovert/pseuds/sintrovert
Summary: Feeling old and uninspired, pro-skater Victor Nikiforov is on the brink of giving up skating for good, until he witnesses a young principal danseur for the Tokyo Ballet who moves like he’s floating on the stage. He sets off on a mission to learn to love skating again and may find more than he bargained for along the way.





	1. Chapter One

     “Have you ever been ice-skating, Yuuri?”

     Yuuri looks up at Minako from where he’s seated on the ground, lacing up his sneakers and stuffing his ballet shoes into his bag. He’d stayed behind after class again for an individual lesson with Minako, and he was going to be late for dinner if he didn’t hurry back to the onsen soon.

     “Uh, yeah, a few times, up at Ice Castle with my family,” he says, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “Why do you ask?”  
Minako squats down in front of Yuuri, smiling widely. “You’re already a phenomenal ballet dancer, even just from our few lessons, and I think you have the talent and endurance to become a world-class figure skater,” Minako says cheerily. She reaches out, grabbing Yuuri’s hands and smiling impossibly wider. “You could be just like Victor Nikiforov! He just won gold in the junior division at the Grand Prix Final, you know!”

      _Victor who?_ Yuuri ponders, taking his hands back. He taps a finger against his chin in thought. _Figure skating?_

     “No thanks,” he says, after a long pause. “Not that I don’t think I could. It’s just…I want to be a principal danseur someday.” He smiles at the mention of his dream, then meets Minako’s eyes with a serious expression. “I have to stay focused on ballet.” He shrugs, standing and shouldering his bag. “I guess Victor Niliforv, or whatever, will have to do the skating for me.” He waves goodbye to Minako before taking off, leaving her with a small smile on her face.  
_He’ll reach that goal someday_ , she thinks to herself. _I’m sure of it._

 

* * *

 

10 Years Later

      His hands shake as he finishes lacing up his shoes and readjusts his costume one last time. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous—he’s danced this performance dozens, possibly even hundreds of times, and he’s never once been nervous before.  
_Oh right_ , he thinks to himself, pulling down on the front of his costume as he takes his place just behind the stage left curtain. _It’s because this is that performance_.  
He hears the music swelling from the pit, the thunderous sound of the orchestra flowing through his feet and up into his body. He runs through the program once quickly in his mind, then lifts his head confidently as he steps beyond the curtain, the heavy stage lights only blinding him for a short moment as he assumes position on stage.

     He feels rather than hears his cue from the orchestra, and he’s suddenly off, body snapping into action with the speed of the string of a bow, every lithe movement and graceful step out of his control. It’s always like this when he dances—him losing himself so much so that he doesn’t need to even think, only feel the unbridled joy he always experiences in times like this. His body becomes like an instrument controlled almost entirely by the music, performing jump after jump, spin after spin with effortless grace and in perfect time. He rises up into a high arabesque as the solo violinist holds an extended trill, then lowers his leg to begin a pirouette as the rest of the orchestra rejoins, a crashing crescendo of sound that has him smiling as he finishes the spin.

     He, Yuuri Katsuki, lands in the finishing pose of his first performance as a principal danseur for The Tokyo Ballet as the orchestra plays its final note, followed immediately by thundering applause. He breathes heavily, reveling in the sound of clapping and even some cheering, and can’t help the smile that graces his face as he bows to the audience. This is everything he has ever wished for, and he can’t think of any way his life could get any better than this moment.

 

* * *

     

     Victor all but tears his skates off his feet the moment he reaches the locker room, not even bothering to unlace them. He angrily stuffs his skates in his bag, barely remembering to slip on the skate guards, then stands, stalking towards the rink’s exit.

     “ **VITYA**!” Victor grits his teeth at his coach’s voice, stopping just before the glass doors and forcing himself to keep looking forward as he hears Yakov coming closer. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

     Victor sighs, turning around to face his coach. He gestures towards the door. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m leaving practice for the day, Yakov,” he deadpans, gesturing to the door with an even more exaggerated motion.

     Yakov pinches the bridge of his nose, obviously annoyed. “You can’t leave yet,” he says, his voice strained in an attempt to be calm. “Your step sequences are off, it’s like you’re not even hearing the music!”

     “Oh no, don’t worry, I’m _hearing_ the music,” Victor says, his grip tightening on his bag. “In addition to your incessant yelling and criticisms.”

     “Your jumps alone can’t get you the gold,” Yakov says gravely. “We need to work on perfecting your step sequence if you want to win–”

     “Have you considered the possibility that I might need a break, Yakov?” Victor asks. “We’ve been drilling the step sequences for both of my programs for nearly two weeks, and I’m **not getting any better**.”

     “Then we just need to practice more,” Yakov says matter-of-factly. “The European Championships are less than a month away, and this is the most important time for you to be practicing your programs. You can get better, Vitya, you just need to want it hard enough.”

     Victor is silent for a moment, thinking over Yakov’s words. Then, he shrugs again. “Well, you’ve always known my mindset on these kinds of things,” he says, smiling almost sadly. “If you don’t have any inspiration left, you’re as good as dead.” With that, he throws open the doors, shivering from the cold air.

     “We are not finished!” calls Yakov. “Vitya, you get back here this instan–!”

     Victor doesn’t bother waiting to hear the rest of Yakov’s yelling, letting the doors slam shut in the old man’s face.

     He’s hit by an especially strong gust of cold air as he walks out onto the sidewalk, and it’s pleasant. He’s surprised to see that the sun has already set, the sky a mosaic of red, pinks, and oranges. He’d been at the rink for most of the day, repeating the same thing over and over, and feeling more and more hopeless with each axel, lutz, and loop. He remembers when skating was new, fun, when he had all the potential in the world to showcase his talent. Now, he’s old, he’s won everything there is to win, and he’s no longer full of surprises. But, skating is Victor’s everything. It’s the only thing he does. He’s nothing if he gives it up. He curses at himself, trudging down the street, hands deep in his pockets and nose red.

     A blinking light catches his eye, and he looks to the Mariinsky Theatre, where hordes of people are lined up for a performance of the Nutcracker. The Nutcracker? So it was already Christmastime? His birthday was coming up quickly, and twenty-seven’s not a pretty number for a figure skater. He sighs, feeling even older and more washed out than when he left the rink.

     Screw it, he decides, and he walks up to the counter and buys a ticket. He has nothing better to do, and who knows, maybe a ballerina will inspire him somehow. He walks in and finds a seat, unaware of the stares he’s getting, a world-famous figure skater sitting in a theater wearing sweats and a t-shirt, hair ruffled and messy, visibly exhausted.

     The lights dim and he perks up a bit from where he’d been idly flipping through the program. The Tokyo Ballet was performing for one night only, so he doesn’t recognize any of the dancers. He watches as the curtains part, and the show begins.

      He’s bored. He doesn’t know how many times he’s seen The Nutcracker in his life, but he knows the story like the back of his hand. The woman playing Clara is magnificent, but Victor fails to glean any sort of inspiration from her. He’s just about to get up and slip out of the theater when the Nutcracker comes to life.

     Victor is starstruck. The Nutcracker’s movements are otherworldly. If Victor didn’t know better, he’d say he was floating on the stage, his steps were so light and fluid. He spins and marches as if one with the music, pirouettes with skill and strength. Victor grabs his phone and uses the flashlight as he furiously flips through the program. There. Katsuki Yuuri, The Nutcracker. Huh. Yuuri. That’d be a fun name to say.

     Even from far away, Victor can tell that Yuuri is absolutely gorgeous, his hair slicked back, eyes wide and bright, his costume and tights clinging onto his body, leaving little to the imagination…needless to say, Victor keeps his eyes glued to Yuuri for the rest of the night. He’s not absolutely certain, but it’s possible he might’ve audibly gasped a few times, maybe even let out a small sniffle. He goes home with a smile on his face, humming the Nutcracker Suite under his breath while he greets Makkachin and gets ready for bed. Victor Nikiforov has found his new inspiration. He spends the rest of the night tucked up in bed with his laptop, scouring the internet for anything and everything Yuuri Katsuki, and falls asleep watching video after video of his dancing.

   

* * *

 

 

      _“@victor-nikiforov: just saw the tokyo ballet perform the nutcracker! @ykatsuki was fantastic! wish i brought flowers for him!"_

     

     Yuuri smiles at the tweet, from some ultra-famous figure skater, if all the fan accounts that just followed him were any indication. Victor Nikiforov. Never heard of him. He presses ‘like’, closes out of Twitter, and goes back to scrubbing the makeup from his face. He has an early flight back to Japan, and he’d rather not traipse around the airport looking like a clown.

     Two months later, a video pops up on his feed. It’s of the figure skater, the one who tweeted him about the Nutcracker. Yuuri watches Victor skate, and he really is very good. Every move is perfect. His theatrics could use a bit of work though, Yuuri thinks. He seems a bit stilted.

     Yuuri likes the video and follows _@victor-nikiforov_.

     Victor gets the notification in the middle of the night, his phone’s buzzing jolting him awake. Well, he thinks, it’s decided then.

* * *

     Yuuri feels disgusting. His face is red and splotchy, his shirt soaked through with sweat, and his hair damp and sticking out in all sorts of places. His breathing is ragged as he finishes his routine for the third straight time in a row, bowing quickly to the smattering of applause from his fellow dancers. He hops off the stage, unlaces his shoes, and stuffs everything in his bag, gulping greedily from his water bottle. All he wants to do is go home to his tiny apartment, take a hot bath, maybe with bubbles, and sleep forever.

     He nearly runs into the man, head down, typing rapidly on his phone as he leaves the studio.

     “Oh, I’m so sorr-” Yuuri exclaims, his face beginning to heat up, then stops in his tracks when he sees the face of the person he nearly bowled over. None other than Victor Nikiforov, holding…a bouquet of roses?

     “I wasn’t able to give you these when I saw you last, so I had to come find you again,” he says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world for him to be standing right there. Yuuri feels his face get hotter as he takes them, his voice suddenly refusing to work.

     “Oh, and I have a request. Teach me everything you know about ballet.”

     “Huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Hope you liked the first chapter (or basically, the prologue, whichever you want to call it!)
> 
> Very special thanks to my beta [toosigoosi](http://toosigoosi.tumblr.com/) on tumblr who should honestly just be credited as a co-author of this because she helped me out so much
> 
> This is also posted on my [tumblr](http://sintrovert.tumblr.com/post/155463262714/pirouettes-and-personal-bests) and based off of a [post](http://sintrovert.tumblr.com/post/154819531137/yuuri-said-minako-had-him-start-skating-what-if-he) I wrote a while back!  
> I'll try and update by the weekend, but I just started my second semester at college so bear with me!


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor’s wearing the most expensive-looking ballet shoes Yuuri has ever seen, obviously brand new judging by the lack of any smudging. And… they’re gold. Gold slippers? Seems about right, Yuuri thinks, then takes a deep breath and lifts his head.

     As Yuuri stares at the strange man standing in front of him, silver hair flopping over one eye and lips formed into a cheery heart-shaped smile as he bounces impatiently in front of him, he can’t help thinking to himself, _This is Victor Nikiforov? Five-time figure skating gold medalist? The most eligible bachelor in the world?_ Yuuri almost laughs out loud. _He’s like a puppy!_

     Victor’s gaze turns solemn, and Yuuri realizes he hasn’t actually said anything in reply.

     “Are you, uh, sure you’re looking for me? I don’t think--” Yuuri starts.

     “You’re Yuuri Katsuki, yes?” Victor interrupts, eyes wide with hope.

     “Er, yeah, I mean--”

     “And you’re with the Tokyo Ballet?”

     “I mean, yes, obviously--”

     “And you played the Nutcracker at Mariinsky Theatre in St. Petersburg this past Christmas?”

     “Well, yes, but--”

     “Then you’re exactly who I’m looking for!” Victor says triumphantly, thrusting the roses into Yuuri’s arms. Yuuri scrambles to keep them from dropping, glancing back in case anyone else is exiting the studio. “Here, take them, please! It’s the least I can do to thank you.”

     Yuuri looks down at the flowers, then back up at Victor, face drawn in confusion. “Thank... _me_?” he says slowly. “Thank me for what?”

     Victor spreads his arms wide, then holds them out towards Yuuri. “For inspiring me, of course!” he says, shooting forward and pulling Yuuri into a hug. Yuuri feels his face flare up with embarrassment, wiggling out of Victor’s tight grip to take a step back.

     “I’m sorry, I’m a little confused,” he says, eyebrows furrowing. “ _I_ inspired you?” Victor doesn’t seem upset, smile stuck on his face and holding his arms out again.

     “When I saw you in St. Petersburg, I was mesmerized with the way you move to the music,” Victor says, arms waving in some semblance of a ballet routine. “It’s like...the music isn’t playing around you, but coming from _inside_ you. The way you move in time with it, hitting every count with such ease and grace, dancing like you’re floating across the stage…It’s breathtaking.” At some point during his musings, Victor had taken a few steps closer to Yuuri, now almost chest to chest with him.

     Yuuri tilts his head slightly back to look up at the other man, heart pounding in his chest as he notices Victor’s half-lidded eyes. One of Victor’s hands reaches out to gingerly take Yuuri’s free hand, and Yuuri watches in slow-motion as Victor lifts it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss against his knuckles.

     “I…” Yuuri says, not sure how to continue.

     Then, Victor brightens up, eyes wide and smile beaming as he says, “So I’d like you to teach me to move in the same way!”

     Yuuri releases a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, taking his hand back gently.

     “I-I...Well, I-I’m flattered, Victor, but I don’t know if I could be a teacher...I-I know next to nothing about figure skating,” Yuuri stammers, turning his head in a vain attempt to hide his blush as he takes another step back.

    “And I know nothing about ballet!” Victor laughs, a joyous sound. “We’ll make a great pair!”

     Yuuri laughs nervously, at a loss. Then he sighs. “Victor, I’m really sorry, but--”

     “Please? At least one lesson!” Victor interrupts, lower lip sticking out in a pout. “If you don’t want to after that, I’ll leave and never come back.” Then, Victor suddenly collapses to his knees, head down to the ground in a perfect dogeza as he pleads, “Just one lesson!”

     Yuuri jumps in surprise, squatting down to help Victor up. He flashes an apologetic smile to the few bystanders wandering around on the street, thinking to himself, _Great, he’s a drama queen._ Once Victor is standing again, Yuuri sighs and, because he just desperately wants to shower, nods.

     “Okay,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “ Meet me here in front of the studio at nine tomorrow morning. We’ll see what happens, I guess.”

     Victor’s eyes go wide, and Yuuri braces when he sees the man launch himself forward. “THANK YOU!!!” he shouts, arms wrapped tight around Yuuri in a hug. Yuuri again smiles apologetically as a fellow dancer exits the studio, a confused look on her face. Victor releases Yuuri, his face beaming. “I promise, you won’t regret this.”

    _Let’s hope not_ , Yuuri thinks absently.

     “I’ll see you tomorrow!” Victor says finally, turning on his heel and heading toward the main intersection. Yuuri remains standing in front of the studio, one arm carrying his practice bag and the other cradling a slightly crushed bouquet of roses.

      _Oh god, what had he just agreed to?_

* * *

     Yuuri unlocks the door to his apartment and drops his bag unceremoniously on the floor as soon as he steps inside. He kicks off his shoes and heads straight for the bathroom, undressing as he goes. He runs a bath, stretching in front of his mirror as the tub fills, wincing as his muscles burn, overused and weary. Yuuri then climbs in, sighing as the scalding water immediately soothes his aching body.

      _Almost like the onsen back home,_ he thinks fondly.

     He sinks beneath the water, humming as his eyelids fall shut. He lets his mind go blank, slipping further down into the cocoon of warm water and deeply inhaling the fruit aroma of the soaps Mari had sent him for his birthday.

     His serenity is broken by the sudden appearance of Victor Nikiforov, his face popping up in Yuuri’s head. He jerks, wincing as he remembers how happy Victor had been when Yuuri had agreed to the lesson. He sits up further in the water, bringing his hands up to his eyes and rubbing at them.

      _What the hell have I gotten myself into?_ he thinks to himself, groaning as he pushes his hair back from his face. Despite having done ballet for as long as he had, Yuuri had never had to teach someone before. Especially not a complete newcomer. He’d helped Minako with instruction in the novice classes from time to time, but even then, he was horrendously awkward and shy. He could barely muster up the courage to ask a waiter to fix a botched order at a restaurant without his face flushing--how the hell was he going to teach someone like Victor Nikiforov?

     Yuuri begrudgingly climbs out of the tub once the water grows tepid, padding over to grab his towel and dry himself off. He drapes the towel over his head, walking back into his room, slipping on a pair of sweatpants, and flopping onto his bed. He grabs his phone off his side table, unlocking it to dozens of notifications--some about new followers on Twitter, some simply direct messages, some text messages, and many, many missed calls.

    _Uh oh._

     Yuuri skims over the notifications, eyes slowly widening as he begins to piece together what has happened.

     Every single notification is about Victor Nikiforov.

     When he reaches the end of the list of notifications, Yuuri sees that Minako’s called him ten times and texted him twenty. Yuuri bites his lip as he dials in her number and holds his phone up to his ear.

     He promptly wrenches it away when his speakers explode with the sound of Minako shrieking.

     “Yuuri! Have you been on Twitter?! Everyone is talking about it! _Is it true?!_ Is it true Victor Nikiforov wants _you_ to teach him ballet?” Minako screams, though it’s garbled, and Yuuri thinks she may be crying. Or drunk.

     “What?” Yuuri says, bringing the phone back to his ear. “Minako-sensei, I can barely understand you through your crying.”

     “Did _Victor Nikiforov_ ask you to teach him ballet?” Minako says, her voice clearer, but still high-pitched with excitement.

     “Um. Yeah, he came to the studio today and practically begged that I give him a lesson, so I said yes,” he says, preemptively holding his phone far away from him when Minako screams again. He can imagine her in her house, bottle of sake in front of her, crying like she does after every one of Yuuri’s shows. He tries not to laugh at the image. “God, what’s the big deal?”

      _“What’s the big deal?!”_ Minako screeches, somehow even louder than before. “Do you even _know_ who he is? Five-time gold medalist at the Grand Prix Final, World Championships, and European Championships, not to mention the Russian Nationals--”

     “You know I know nothing about ice skating, Minako-sensei,” Yuuri interrupts. “But yeah, I know who he is. And yes, I’m going to be...teaching him.” It still feels strange to say out loud, and Yuuri rolls over onto his side. “He says he came to The Nutcracker performance in St. Petersburg and that I ‘inspired’ him, or something.” Yuuri shrugs, even though Minako can’t see it. “So now I’m gonna be giving him a ballet lesson.”

     “You _inspired_ him?” Minako asks, her tone incredulous. Then she makes a high-pitched squealing noise. “ _Oh my god, he’s totally in love with you!_ ”

     Yuuri can feel his face heat up, sitting up suddenly. “Wha-- _No_! N-No, this is just ballet, he wants me to help--”

     “ _Oh my god, you like him_.”

     Yuuri’s the one who shrieks this time. “N-No, I don’t! Why...Why would you even _say_ that?”

     “You _liiiike_ him!” Minako says in a sing-songy voice, laughing when Yuuri practically screeches, “I DO NOT.”

     Yuuri huffs indignantly, crossing his legs beneath him and picking at a loose string from his duvet. “I only just met the guy,” he says, his voice shaking from embarrassment. “A-And this is only supposed to be a one-time thing. He’s coming by for a lesson at the studio in the morning.”

     “You’ll have to bring him home to Hasetsu! He’d love the onsen!” Minako exclaims, seeming to have ignored what Yuuri had just said. “You two can come to my studio, bring me some business!” Yuuri can hear the smugness in her voice.

     Yuuri sighs. “I haven’t even decided if I’m actually going to coach him yet.”

     “Yes, you _have_. And yes, _you will_ ,” Minako says with a tone of finality.

     Yuuri shakes his head. “Minako-sensei--”

     “Yuuri, I know you have trouble with doubting yourself whenever opportunities like this arise, but I am telling you, be Victor’s teacher,” she says, her voice devoid of any sobbing or drunkenness. “Forgetting that you’re practically family to me, and that I only want what’s best for you--as your old teacher, I think teaching him would be the exact thing you need to reignite your love for ballet. You were saying you’d started feeling a bit bored, didn’t you?”

     Yuuri doesn’t respond, biting his lip. She’s right that he’d mentioned he’d begun to feel bored with ballet, having reached his penultimate goal of becoming principal danseur, and was searching for something to get his love back. But...teaching someone else? A figure skater like Victor Nikiforov, at that?

     “We’ll see how things go after the lesson tomorrow,” Yuuri says, exhaling when Minako squeals in response. “Anyway, how are things in Hasetsu?”  
He closes his eyes and lets Minako’s rambling about her studio, his family, and Victor Nikiforov lull him to sleep.

* * *

  
     Victor arrives at the studio at nine o’clock sharp, already overflowing with energy and cheer, in clear contrast to Yuuri’s hunched shoulders and the giant mug of coffee he’s nursing.

     “Good morning, Yuuri!” he says, beaming happily as Yuuri passes him to enter the studio. Yuuri mumbles something back in response, wiping at the corner of one eye so as to not disturb his contacts. He doesn’t know why he decided to have the lesson so early, especially when his own rehearsal wouldn’t start until at least noon.

     He yawns, pushing open the door to the largest studio with Victor trailing behind him, perhaps a little too close.

     Yuuri points to the row of the dressing room doors, then says, “You can, uh, change in one of the dressing rooms over there, if you need to that is. They should be open.” He nods, then turns on his heels, heading toward the barre and mirror to drop his bag and coat on the ground. As he squats down to slip on his shoes--which are extremely well-worn and in desperate need of replacement--Yuuri happens to look up to see the reflection of Victor’s naked back and ass in the mirror. He’s struggling into a pair of black leggings, and Yuuri quickly flicks his eyes back down, hustling his lace tying.

     “ _Why are you changing here?!_ ” Yuuri asks, cursing the shake in his voice.

     “ _Huh?_ ” comes Victor’s voice, laced with confusion.

     “T-The dressing rooms are _over there_ ,” he stammers. He points blindly towards the dressing rooms, keeping his eyes down on his shoes instead of braving a look up. “You’re s-supposed to change in the dressing rooms!”

     “Oh,” Victor says. Then he laughs. “I just figured I’d change here, since I only really need to change into these leggings.” Yuuri--stupidly--looks up to see Victor facing forward towards the mirror now, leggings pulled only partially up his thighs and flashing everything. Yuuri yelps, quickly looking back down as Victor says, “Besides, it’s just the two of us right now.”

     “ _Still_ ,” Yuuri says, busying himself with untying and retying his laces. “From now on, change in the dressing rooms. Please.” Victor makes a noise like a soft hum, and when Yuuri glances back up to the mirror, he’s facing away again, leggings pulled all the way up as he slips a white t-shirt over his head.

     Yuuri stands, turning around, then exhales sharply at the sight of Victor. He’s wearing the absolute tightest white t-shirt Yuuri’s has ever seen, so much so it’s practically see through, and black leggings. Every curve of his body visible, muscles tensing as he stretches his arms above him, looking very relaxed and in his element. He strolls casually forward, Yuuri’s eyes catching on the movement of his leg muscles through black spandex, stopping once he’s about a foot away from Yuuri and smiling that beaming smile. Yuuri gulps, then mentally scolds himself for ogling his student, averting his gaze to the floor. Victor’s wearing the most expensive-looking ballet shoes Yuuri has ever seen, obviously brand new judging by the lack of any smudging. And… they’re gold. Gold slippers? Seems about right, Yuuri thinks, then takes a deep breath and lifts his head.

     “Alright,” Yuuri starts, wincing as his voice cracks at the end. Victor raises an eyebrow amusedly, causing Yuuri’s face to flush with embarrassment. Yuuri clears his throat to regain his composure.“So...S-Since you have no previous ballet experience, we’ll start on the barre.”

     Victor grins, like he knows he’s made Yuuri flustered, and practically skips over to the barre. “So. _Yuuri_ ,” he says, drawing out Yuuri’s name lazily, “What’s first? Jumps? Spins?” Victor leans against the barre, one hand resting lightly on top.

     Yuuri laughs. “No, that’s a long way from now. Today we’re doing the five basic positions.”

     Yuuri demonstrates each position and Victor follows along. He’s a fast learner, though he has trouble keeping his arms in the right place, and Yuuri keeps having to lift them or fix his wrist placement, and he’s too close, he can smell Victor’s shampoo and something else distinctly him, and oh, his eyes are so blue...  
He drops his hands quickly and takes a giant step backward, and Victor looks after him in confusion. “Am I that bad?” he asks, stepping out of position. His eyes are large like he’s about to cry, and Yuuri rushes to shake his head.

     “No, no! You’re looking fine! I mean, great! Y-You’re looking great!” Yuuri squeaks, hoping his face would catch on fire with the rest of his body and he could just burn to a crisp right here right now. “I just, uh...think it’s time for a break!”

     With that, Yuuri hurries out of the room and into the bathroom, where he splashes a generous amount of water on his face. He stares into his face, willing the red across his cheeks to fade. Minako had just gotten into his head, that’s all. He barely knew this guy, and it was extremely inappropriate for a teacher to….Oh god. He so likes him.

     Victor’s lounging on the floor when Yuuri comes back about five minutes later, absentmindedly scrolling through his Instagram feed, and Yuuri takes a minute to just look at him before breaking the silence.

     “Okay, so now I think we should--” Yuuri starts.

     “Actually, Yuuri,” Victor interrupts, straightening up, “I was wondering if you would dance for me?” He smiles, eyebrows raised in question.

     “Ah, you--You want me...What?” Yuuri stammers.

     “I’d like for you to dance for me,” Victor says simply.

     Yuuri opens his mouth to respond, then closes it, unsure how to respond. Sure, his entire life consists of performance after performance, but dancing here, just him and Victor, felt much more...intimate than if he were in front of thousands of people. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “D-Do you have a dance in mind?”

     Victor puts a finger to his chin in thought. “Ah! The one you did as your first performance for the Tokyo Ballet! That’s my favorite.” Victor smiles warmly. “It reminded me of how I felt when I first started skating.”

    _His favorite? Christ, how many performances of mine has he seen?_

     “Let me see if I still have the music on my phone,” Yuuri says, moving to grab his phone from his bag. He scrolls through his list of music, stopping on the song when he’s found it. He then moves to plug his phone into the speakers. He then presses play, assuming his starting position. Victor looks on, and if Yuuri didn’t know any better, he’d say Victor looked starstruck.

     The music begins and Yuuri feels the familiar tug in his stomach, and he relinquishes himself to the music, his body moving on its own accord, mind blissfully blank as he glides across the floor. He can feel a smile blossoming on his face, that unbridled joy bubbling up from inside him, heart thumping in his chest to the beat of the track. Before he knows it, he’s spinning, his last pirouette morphing into his final pose, arm outstretched, index finger pointed straight at Victor. He’s breathing heavily, and as soon as the music stops, he can feel his limbs get heavy, and he slumps forward, trying to quell the intense emotion that threatens to spill out of him. He’s not going to cry in front of Victor. He’s already embarrassed himself enough.

     Yuuri’s surprised when a pair of strong arms suddenly wrap around him, and he flicks his gaze upward, meeting Victor’s piercing gaze, and he gets goosebumps. _How does he do that with just a look?_

     “Yuuri, what you just did right there... _that’s_ what makes you my inspiration,” Victor says, his voice gone soft. He goes to move away but for some reason Yuuri stops him, his arms reaching up to hug Victor back, melting into the embrace. Victor tenses in surprise but then chuckles, and Yuuri can feel his laughter vibrating through his chest where he’s pressed up against him.

     “Thank you,” Yuuri mumbles into Victor’s chest, and Victor hums, giving Yuuri a final squeeze before Yuuri disentangles himself from him. “I’ve just...No one’s ever called me their inspiration before,” he murmurs abashedly, eyes dropping to the floor.

     “Really?” Victor says, sounding truly incredulous. “I find that hard to believe. Who wouldn’t feel inspired after seeing a performance like that?” Yuuri smiles, turning his head away to hide his blush. He busies himself with taking a much needed sip of water, while Victor moves to the center of the room.

     “What is it called, when you stand on the one foot and lift the other up?” Victor asks, readjusting his shoes. Yuuri’s surprised he’s still wearing them; breaking in new shoes isn’t easy, and ballet dancers aren’t known for having pretty feet. Then again, breaking in skates is probably very similar.

     “A passé,” Yuuri responds, replacing the cap on his water bottle. “Or a retiré. They’re basically the same thing.”

     Victor nods. “Show me?”

     Yuuri turns one foot frontward, and the other out, then in one swift movement, brings his right foot up to where it’s formed a triangle shape, arms stretched upward in fifth position. He steps out of it, and watches Victor mimic his foot placement.

     Victor pops his leg up, wobbling for a second...before immediately falling on his ass.

     Yuuri can’t help the giggle that escapes him before he clamps a hand over his mouth.

     Victor glares over at him, his lip jutted out in a pout. “What? Something funny?” he demands, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

     Yuuri walks over to kneel in front of Victor. “It’s okay. Balance is something that takes a long time to master. Your center of balance on the ice is different than here, so you just have to readjust.” Yuuri straightens back up, and reaches out a hand to help Victor up.

     “Owww,” Victor whines, rubbing his lower back, his pride hurt more than anything else.  
Yuuri is still smiling as Victor stands, rubbing at his backside like a wounded animal. Before he realizes what he’s doing and can stop himself, he says, “You know if you continued taking lessons, I think you could learn that move easily.”

     Victor’s head snaps up, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. “Taking lessons…” he says, voice slightly quiet. He then smiles fondly, and Yuuri feels like melting. “As in...you’ll teach me?”

     Yuuri realizes the mistake in his words too late, inhaling sharply as his face flushes bright red. “O-Or, you know, from s-some other instructor!” Yuuri rushes to say. “I-I’m sure there are plenty of instructors w-willing to, er...t-to teach--”

     “I don’t want anyone else to teach me,” Victor says plainly, eyebrows drawn. “I want to learn from you.”

     Yuuri bites his lip, then sighs. “Listen, Victor,” he says. “I don’t know if I can be the kind of teacher you’re looking for. I mean, yeah, I can teach you, like, the basics of ballet, but...actual teaching is kind of out of my element.” Victor is silent for a moment, watching Yuuri with a calculated look behind his blue eyes. Then, he smiles again, a warm smile that Yuuri is sure could melt any person’s heart, and takes a step forward, arms raised as if offering a hug.

     “How about a trade?” he says. “You teach me everything you know about ballet, regardless of how good of a teacher you think you are, and I’ll teach you everything I know about figure skating.” He shrugs, his smile morphing into a sort of boyishly cute half-smile. “It’s not much, but I figured we could equally enjoy each other’s terrible teaching.” Yuuri can’t help laughing at that, taking an unconscious step closer to Victor.

     In any other situation, Yuuri would have for sure still said no. But something about the almost desperate look in Victor’s eyes, the outstretched arms, the offer of teaching him to figure skate is enough to make him nod his head.

     “Alright,” he says, surprised by the lack of quiver in his voice. “Alright, I’ll teach you ballet.” Despite having only spent less than a day with him, Yuuri is completely unsurprised when Victor springs forward, arms wrapping tight around Yuuri and practically spinning him around in a circle.

     “Yuuri!” Victor squeals, grabbing his shoulders and hold him back to smile directly at him. “You won’t regret this, I promise!” Yuuri smiles back, slightly dazed and dizzy from the spinning and sudden proximity to Victor. As he does, his eyes catch sight of the clock on the back wall. His eyes shoot open in surprise, and he curses under his breath. Victor’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. “What is it?”

     “I...lost track of time,” Yuuri says, rushing over to where his bag is on the ground. He grabs it quickly, dropping to the ground to begin untying his shoes. “My regular practice starts in ten minutes in a different studio, plus I think this studio is supposed to be used by a class.” He shoves his shoes in his bag, shouldering it once he has his regular tennis shoes back on. He turns to Victor, who’s still standing watching Yuuri with a look of confusion on his face. “Uh, I don’t think that class is supposed to start for at least fifteen minutes, so you can, er--”

     “It’s fine, Yuuri,” Victor says, his face relaxing into another smile. “My hostel isn’t too far from here, so I can just let myself out.” Victor turns and heads for his things, and Yuuri definitely isn’t staring at his ass in those leggings.

     Yuuri’s hand grips his bag strap tightly. “ _H-Hostel_?” he calls after Victor, voice unsure.

     Victor is sitting on the ground now, unlacing and easing his feet out of his shoes. He looks up at Yuuri’s voice, flipping back his bangs. “Yeah,” he says. “I couldn’t stay in any of the hotels nearby, so I chose to stay in the hostel.”

     “Y-You could stay with me,” Yuuri says without realizing. Victor looks just as surprised as Yuuri feels, and it’s with some stuttering that Yuuri manages to say, “I-I have a spare guest room in my apartment. I r-rarely use it, so it’s kind of empty right--”

     “ _Really?!_ ” Victor says, immediately jumping to his feet. He pads over to Yuuri, looking ready to jump Yuuri with another hug. Yuuri takes a step back in anticipation and Victor stops, a knowing smile on his face. “You’d let me stay with you?”

     Yuuri swallows. “Why not?” he says, smiling sheepishly. Victor doesn’t attack him with another hug, though Yuuri can tell that he wants to, but still beams. Yuuri’s eyes flick up to the clock, and he curses again, quickly scribbling down his address on a crumpled up gum wrapper he finds in the bottom of his bag.

     “There’s a key under the front mat.” He says, running to the door. “I’ll be back around seven.” He turns away before he thinks better of it, and before Victor crushes him in another hug.

     “Amazing!” Victor exclaims, from behind him. “I’ll just have to go get Makkachin, and I’ll make dinner!”

     Yuuri turns around now, eyebrow raised. “ _Makka-whaa_?”

     “My dog!” Victor beams, as if it’s perfectly normal to bring a dog on an international adventure. Yuuri has a sneaking suspicion Victor was never planning on leaving so soon.

     “Oh-okay.” Yuuri stammers, because he really doesn’t have time to digest this right now.

     “Turn the lights off when you leave, please!” He says, and with that, he’s out the door and sprinting through the building.

     He arrives at his rehearsal studio a minute past noon, and though he knows his director is about to give him a tongue-lashing, he can’t help the small smile that passes over his face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! School, you know? Thank you for all of the kind messages on the first chapter! I appreciate each and every one!
> 
> Special thanks to [toosigoosi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toosigoosi/pseuds/toosigoosi) for helping me so much with this that I went ahead and made her a co-author!  
> Check her out on [tumblr](http://toosigoosi.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Check out my [tumblr](http://sintrovert.tumblr.com/) if you want to!
> 
> It's also up on my [tumblr](http://sintrovert.tumblr.com/post/156254342474/pirouettes-and-personal-bests)
> 
> Disclaimer: Y'all I'm trying but I know nothing about ballet so if I mess up have mercy on me!!
> 
> Until next time!
> 
> toosigolsi:  
> Why hello, all. I'm the co-author (who was the beta but I don't know how to beta correctly so like ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯) and I just wanted to come on here and say hey, since this is technically my first foray into fanfic for the YOI fandom! I probably won't comment too much, since I've got...many, MANY fics of my own that I'm still writing, but I may occasionally come here into the beginning or end notes just to say hey, and what-have-thee. Until next time (whenever that is)!


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